


The Weeping Soul

by aWiseOwl



Category: Cursed (TV 2020)
Genre: Angst, Captivity, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Enemies, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Lancelot - Freeform, Moral Dilemmas, The Weeping Monk deserves more attention
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:08:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25697830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aWiseOwl/pseuds/aWiseOwl
Summary: But it was too late to back off now. He didn’t even think of the fact that they knew who he was and would likely burn him. All he could think of was the little boy. Many years ago, another orphan was left alone until he was found and saved by Father. This boy shall encounter a gentler fate.And so the bloody dance began.
Comments: 28
Kudos: 126





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've binge watched Cursed and I couldn't help myself but to write about the fantastic duo that is the Weeping Monk and Squirrel.

“Take cover.” The Weeping Monk let Squirrel go and took out not one but two swords.

_There are two many of them._

But it was too late to back off now. He didn’t even think of the fact that they knew who he was and would likely burn him. All he could think of was the little boy. Many years ago, another orphan was left alone until he was found and saved by Father. This boy shall encounter a gentler fate.

And so the bloody dance began. Trinity or not Trinity, he killed the first warriors easily. Yet the next wave contained many more of them. Their arms immobilised his sword and soon he found himself on his knees, blows coming from all sides. They stopped only when he stopped struggling and fell on his face.

He felt himself being hauled up to his knees, resignation washing over him. They were going to kill him and he welcomed it. They took off his hood and he was bare to the world. Exposed. He was an abomination in the eyes of God. He tried so hard to wash off the sins of his true nature with the blood of God’s enemies, but he failed too many times. All those times were marked by the whip on his back. Some scars coming from his merciful Father who showed him how to cleanse himself, how to give his souls a chance, some blows fell from his own hand. He feared though that they won’t be enough to save him from the eternal flame.

And yet…yet the Green Knight’s words were running through his head. That he is one of them, that the Paladins’ words are all lies. If that was true, he was damned too. If the Fey Gods were the real gods, he turned his back on them and massacred his own people. He wasn’t cleansing them and trying to free their soul. He didn’t give them to Brother Salt to save their souls, he delivered them to him to suffer for nothing.

There were too many gods. He could never know which ones were real and which ones were not.

One thing was sure though.

His actions have sentenced him in the eyes of all of them.

He felt a rough hand in his hair forcing his face up. There was so much pain screaming from all parts of his body, but he didn’t really feel it. He was waiting for the final blow.

But instead, a rock hit his would-be executioner. Tiredly, he turned his sight to where the rock has come from and he saw the little boy picking up a sword from the ground.

A confusion clouded his mind. The boy should have run. The moment he saw that he was about to lose, he should have tried to run away. He stood a chance; he was fast and the Trinity was focused on him. He might have escaped had he tried.

The Weeping Monk could not understand why the boy was now standing there in front of him, ready to face the Trinity. He was courageous, true, but he was not stupid. He must see that he cannot possibly fight them all. What was he doing? Why was he about to fight?

_For me. He is trying to save me._

He has always been the one saving his brothers. No one would ever try helping him. And yet now, this boy was willing to die just to help him.

Maybe he doesn’t need to choose a god. Maybe he just needs to do what is right and save the little one’s life.

With a new determination, the Weeping Monk reached for his sword and quickly, ignoring his injuries, he killed the rest of the Trinity. The brother from Rome ran away.

He won. The boy should be able to get away.

He didn’t expect to feel little hands on him, forcing him up and leading him to his horse. Without thinking, he mounted his horse.

“Come on.” He whispered and lifted the boy from the ground to sit in front of him. Carefully, he wrapped his arm around the boy’s small body so that he wouldn’t fall down and beckoned his horse to move.

He leaned onto the little boy, hoping that he wouldn’t fall from his own horse.

Squirrel held tightly to the hand keeping him in the saddle. Not only to make sure he wouldn’t fall down, but mainly because he understood that his saviour needed someone to lean on too.


	2. Chapter 2

_“Dad? Dad!” A small boy screams as he frantically runs towards a quickly built wooden cross. His father is tied to the ominous construction and the little Lancelot ignores the massacre happening all around him until he reaches his father._

_The figure on the cross looks down and his terrified expression turns into a resolute one._

_“Lancelot. Lancelot, listen to me.” He looks around to make sure than no Paladin has noticed his son yet. “Son, I need you to run away as fast as you can and search for your mother. I know that you can do it.”_

_“But dad…” Tears stream down the boy’s face as he looks up at his father._

_“Lancelot, you are a very, very special boy. You can find your mother, you know it. I love you very much. That’s why I need you to find your mother. Can you do it for me?”_

_The boy continues crying._

_“Lancelot, focus. Can you smell her scent?”_

_A few sobs later, Lancelot nods._

_“Go, Lancelot. Run as fast as you can and don’t look back.”_

_“What about you, dad?” The boy’s deep blue eyes find his father’s. He is too young to understand everything that is happening, and the man on the cross believes it’s for the better._

_“I will be alright if you remember that your daddy loves you. Always.”_

_Lancelot nods again._

_“Go, now!”_

_And Lancelot runs. He runs as fast as he can, never looking back, focusing on his mother’s smell. He never hears his father’s screams nor he sees the man who would later become his new father who is stopping the Paladins from catching him. Instead, Father Carden beckons the brothers to follow the boy instead, a triumphant smirk twisting his lips._

_…_

“Lancelot. A long time ago, my name was Lancelot” A few words spoken and yet they bring unexpected emotions and expected pain. He breathes deeper, those few spoken sentences having exhausted his injured body. The word darkens in front of him and Lancelot grabs Percival tighter to ground himself.

The boy seems to have noticed Lancelot’s uneven breathing and turns his head to look at the Weeping Monk. Lancelot doesn’t look back at him but is aware of the boy’s inner battle.

“We should stop for the night. You need to rest.” Squirrel says finally.

“No.” Lancelot whispers. “They are probably following us. We cannot stop.”

“But you are injured. I need to at least tend your injuries. I’ve seen others do it after you burnt down our village, I am sure I can do it.”

Lancelot chuckles unhappily, noticing the irony in the boy’s words.

“The Fey camp is but a day ride away. I can survive until then.”

Squirrel gives him a doubtful look. “Alright. But I’ll take you to the healers immediately when we get there. I am knight now and so they will listen to me.” And he places his little hand over Lancelot’s bloodied one and gives it a little squeeze of encouragement. Lancelot almost falls from the horse from the unexpected affectionate touch. He doesn’t reply.

…

_“Mamma!” Lancelot whispers as he notices his mother’s scent nearby. He stops and focuses; he closes his eyes and when he opens them, he knows he needs to go to the massive oak tree right in front of him. Confused, he touches the tree. Under his touch, the trunk reveals a door which the boy opens and all but runs into the insides of the tree._

_“Lancelot?” A soft voice wonders incredulously as the young woman sees the boy running towards her._

_“My boy.” She cries as the boy lands in her embrace. She thought him dead as the rest of their village._

_Lancelot is crying in his mother’s embrace when rough hands tear him away from her._

_“Get off him. Let him go!” The woman screams as one of the brothers takes hold of her son whilst the other pushes her out of the tree cave. Once they are out in the forest, two monks tie the woman to the oak tree._

_A figure dressed as all the rest of them but with an unmistakable air of authority walks right in front of Lancelot. The mother stops screaming and Lancelot ceases crying._

_Father Carden crouches in front of Lancelot until he is at the same heigh as the boy. He carefully observes him, confirming his suspicion._

_He raises his hand towards the boy’s face meaning to force him to look him in the eyes by forcefully lifting his chin up but changes his mind at the last moment. Instead, he gently strokes the boy’s wet cheek. It has the desired effect; the boy looks up at him with confusion written all over his face._

_“Don’t worry, boy.” His voice is falsely sweet but the little boy is unable to recognise the falsehood in it. “We are going to help your mother.”_

_“What about my dad?” Lancelot asks, his innocent childhood leaving him unprepared for the deceitful world outside of their village._

_“We have saved him already.” Father Carden smiles and Lancelot feels much relieved._

_Carden stands up and locks his eyes with the brother holding the boy. The monk’s eyes sparkle with malicious comprehension and he nods._

_Carden walks towards the tree where Lancelot’s mother is left immobilised. He raises his hand and a brother rushes to him with a burning torch._

_The woman does not look terrified._

_“He’s just a boy. He’s no threat to you.” She is looking straight into Carden’s eyes._

_“I am not going to kill him. I am, after all, a man of mercy. “ Carden turns around to face his brothers and the boy. He locks his gaze with the little Fey._

_“You were born to demons. You are an abomination in the eyes of God…”_

_“Lancelot, don’t listen to him. He’s lying, you are beautiful and…” A hard slap silences the boy’s mum._

_“Mum!” The boy cries and begins fighting against the hands holding him in place._

_“As I was saying,” Carden continues as if nothing happened, “you are an abomination, a monster born out of repulsion. You all are. But we, in our eternal mercy, try our best to save your souls. You are going to help us to achieve that mission.” He finishes and turns around to face Lancelot’s mum. “We are going to start with your mother.” He lowers the torch towards the ground and the grass catches the fire almost instantly. He moves a few steps back._

_The fire quickly finds its way towards the woman. Despite her bravery, she cannot stop the screams as the fire begins consuming her._

_“Mamma.” Lancelot whispers only, unable to cry, unable to move or take his eyes away from the terrifying scene in front of him. “Mamma.”_

_Lancelot watches everything in a complete shock. He barely registers when the man crouches in front of him again. “We start your training tomorrow. You will be our greatest weapon.” The words don’t register in his mind as his little hands are tied in front of him and he is taken away._

_…_

Lancelot swallows a cry of pain as he removes his fingers from an open wound on his back. He scratched his whip mark to prevent himself from falling asleep. He promised himself he will deliver the boy to the Fey camp and he cannot do that if he faints.

“Lancelot?” He hears Percival ask.

“Yes?” He forces himself to whisper.

“Have you got any food?”

“No, but we are almost there.” Lancelot can feel the scent of Fey intensifying.

Thinking about his plan now, he understands that he hasn’t got any plan. His injuries clouded his mind and left him unprepared. He is always two steps ahead of his enemy but now, he understands that he is going to the Fey camp without any idea what to do. He quickly considers telling Percival to get off the horse and run towards his people. He could try to ride away. Some primal instinct to survive screams at him to follow this idea as it seems to be the only way to save his miserable life. But he dismisses the idea quickly. He wouldn’t get far anyway and he has no strength to argue with Percival now.

Maybe they don’t need a plan though. The Fey know the boy; they are not going to hurt him. And for him, he has been dead since he turned on his brothers.

They will ride straight into the camp.

Goliath keeps steady as he walks towards his master’s doom.

“State your business!” A voice screams and Lancelot instructs Goliath to stop.

“Hello?” Squirrel says confidently and a man emerges from a nearby bush.

“Squirrel?” He says with disbelief but before a smile has a chance to cover his face, he notices the dark figure behind the boy. His eyes are flooded by instinctive fear.

“It’s him! The Weeping Monk! He’s here! The Weeping Monk is here!” He screams and immediately, Lancelot can hear countless Fey running towards them.

“Are you using Squirrel as a bait? I swear to you if you hurt the boy…” The man says with a newfound courage.

“No, no, you don’t understand.” Squirrel begins explaining. “He saved me, he isn’t bad anymore….”

And despite the sounds of his will-be executioners slithering closer and closer, Lancelot smiles. For a moment, he wishes it could indeed be as simple as Percival believes. But one good deed doesn’t wash away a life full of sin. But to die knowing that there is at least one soul in the world who doesn’t completely hate him seems to be more that Lancelot could have ever hoped for.

“Arthur!” Squirrel screams as countless Fey warriors encircle their horse.

“Don’t shoot! You might hit Squirrel!” Arthur instructs with his trained mind and quickly assesses the situation. He notices almost immediately that the Monk hasn’t got a sword.

“He hasn’t got his sword. Take him down.”

The last thing that Lancelot remembers is being hauled down from Goliath. As his face hits the hard ground, everything goes mercifully dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think :)


	3. Chapter 3

Lancelot woke up with a flinch. Confusion creeped into his features; he was trained to never fall asleep too deep in case he was needed by his brothers. He tried raising his hand to remove the hair which seemed to be stuck to his face but a sound of rattling chains prevented him from doing so. He set his sleepy gaze onto his palms and the events of the last few days came rushing back as a storm.

Immediately, Lancelot was completely awakened. Taking in his surroundings, he seemed to be in a dim large tent. He was on his own, sitting on the ground. His wrists were encircled by heavy irons connected by a smooth chain with irons binding together his ankles. The chain was attached to a heavy looking rock. Clearly, the Fey were taking no chances with the Weeping Monk. Lancelot breathed out heavily which proved to be a bad idea as it reminded him of his untreated injuries. Once again, he raised his hands to remove the hair sticking to the blood on his face. He hurt everywhere and so it kind of surprised him to have awakened. Chuckling unhappily, he wondered what kind of fate did the Fey prepare for him. He doubted to be granted a swift death by the sword. More likely, they will want revenge. Maybe they’ll symbolically burn him. That might at least give him a desperate shot at salvation.

Lancelot’s musings were interrupted by a movement at the front of the tent. A strong warrior stepped in.

“You’re awake.” The surprise evident on her face was quickly replaced by disgust that she did not try to hide.

Lancelot didn’t answer.

Kaze stared at him for a moment and then exited the tent without another word.

Lancelot let out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding. Drops of sweat covered his forehead and the former monk realised that for the first time since his training was completed, he felt truly afraid. He didn’t know what it was: whether the unforgiving, repelled look that the warrior gave him, or maybe it was the chance at better life far away from the Paladins and their punishments that he hoped for deep inside. This hope was crushed by a single look. Lancelot didn’t believe he would be spared by the Fey and he definitely didn’t hope for any sort of forgiveness or acceptance. But in the far away corner of his soul to which he forbade himself entry, he still wished for it.

He waited for a few moments and as nothing happened, he tried making himself comfortable. That proved impossible and he only succeeded in bringing himself onto a kneeling position when the tent was opened once again and this time, two warriors approached him. The taller of them went straight to the stone and began unlocking and unwrapping the chain from it. Lancelot could smell fear on him. The shorter one went straight towards him and without any warning shove a dagger against Lancelot’s neck. This one smelled of animosity.

“You try one funny thing and you’re dead. Please, try something.” A sadistic smile crept onto the Fey’s face and Lancelot understood that his hate was not driven just by the fact that he was the Weeping Monk. It was personal.

“Do you understand?”

“Yes.” Lancelot’s voice was hollow. He was aware that their hatred was justified and that he deserved his punishment yet he still couldn’t help himself but feel a sting of regret that he has only lived his life as a Weeping Monk; never free, never content. Violence was all that he has known since he was little and it would be the way he would be send to meet his Maker. Lancelot couldn’t help it but to cling to his pride the same way he did the last time when he was captured, when he was taken to Father Carden. But the last time he was a mere boy of fear. Now he was a man and he would not go as a frightened hen. As always when life got hard, Lancelot thought of his mother and her bravery in the face of the Paladin army and with this little act of inside rebellion, Lancelot drove the strength to send all the dangerous thoughts away from his mind. He let himself be not so gently hauled up. Biting his lips as his injuries screamed at him, Lancelot left his expression blank as he was slowly taken out of his tent. He couldn’t walk fast, neither his wounds nor his restrictions allowed him to do so.

Once outside, it took a second for Lancelot’s eyes to get accustomed to the bright light. Before they could fully do so, he was dropped onto the ground. He left out a small whimper of pain but immediately pushed himself to sit onto his heels.

There was a half-circle formed around him. No one stood closed to him than four steps, but they had all drawn their weapons. They seemed to be all warriors, probably high up in the hierarchy of Fey though Lancelot didn’t know anything about their customs. They smelled of anger and satisfaction except one, who smelled of pity and confusion; that didn’t make any sense. Lancelot raised his head to meet his captors and with horror he realised that one of the people standing around him was Percival. He was standing right next to a boy, a man not older than himself who seemed to be the most important in the group.

Suddenly, Lancelot felt uneasy. He felt relieved that the boy was safe and so he was successful in his mission, but something twisted inside him upon the realisation that the boy still hated him. Scum was the way he called him when they met. He knew he didn’t deserve Percival’s forgiveness but it still hurt seeing him standing there with the rest of them. The world began spinning around him and Lancelot had to find stability by resting his hands on the ground. Unfortunately, the ground was covered by leaves and his hands immediately turned into the colour green. The people around him hissed furiously and he quickly straightened up.

“I can’t do this. I can’t stand close to him for more than ten second without wanting to kill him.” The boy standing next to Percival said and turned away with disgust.

“Arthur.” The warrior, who was the one to find that Lancelot was awake, spoke gently. “Until Nimue returns, we are in charge together. We need you here.”

“He killed him.” Arthur said and his voice shook. “We were talking about me teaching him to fight. He was innocent. He was good. And then _his_ arrow pierced his throat and he dropped dead. As if he was no one, unimportant. But he was worth so much more than you.” Arthur made a step towards Lancelot but Squirrel jumped in front of him. Arthur laughed incredulously. “That’s who he is, Squirrel. He burnt your house, he killed your parents, he tried to kill me, he killed Gawain, and he killed countless others whose names we do not know. He’s a cold-blooded assassin.”

Squirrel looked at Lancelot who returned the stare. Lancelot could feel the uncertainty in Percival. It hurt more than he dared to admit.

“This is leading nowhere.” The warrior said resolutely. “Monk.” Lancelot looked at her. “My name is Kaze and I am one of the leaders around here. We are going to ask you a few questions and you are going to answer them. Is that clear?”

Lancelot nodded.

Apparently, that wasn’t enough because Kaze was next to him in a second and backhanded him hard across the face. Lancelot didn’t move an inch and made no sound; he kept frozen to place. Only when it seemed that no more was to follow did he stretch his muscles, not daring to touch his burning cheek.

“Kaze!” Squirrel screamed as the warrior was stepping back.

“Yes, Squirrel?” She gave him a questioning look.

Squirrel was silent for a long time. “We are not the Paladins.” He said finally.

Kaze’s look softened a bit. “No, we aren’t.” She focused on Lancelot once again. “Let me ask you again. Is that clear?”

“Yes.” Lancelot said, voice numb.

“Much better. Remove his hood. I need to be able to say if he’s telling the truth.”

Lancelot kept absolutely still as his hood was torn away from his head, leaving him exposed once again.

“How old are you?” Kaze lets out before she can stop herself. The man in front of her is…young. Much younger than she imagined.

“I don’t know.” Comes the reluctant answer from the kneeling figure.

“You don’t know how old you are.” Kaze repeats, pretending the question was intentional.

“No. It never mattered.” Lancelot is well aware how unsatisfactory his answer is. Kaze lets it be for now.

“You are a Fey. A traitor.”

Lancelot feels sick to say it loud. “Yes. I am from the Ash Folk.”

One of the warriors spits in his direction.

“What is your plan? Why did you bring Squirrel here? How far away is your back up?”

And Lancelot knows that the truth sounds all so pathetic. “There is no back up. There is no plan. I took Percival back to his people. That’s all there is to it.”

“Percival.” Kaze repeats, ruminating.

“Yes. The boy.” Lancelot says, realising only now that the boy might have told him a fake name.

“Percival has already told us how it all happened, but it doesn’t mean it couldn’t all be a trap.” Kaze raises an eyebrow.

“Of course it’ a trap. That’s what I have been telling you all this time. He’s a…” Arthur is getting red in the face.

“Oh, do shut up, Arthur. If you can’t be helpful, let the adults handle it.” Kaze silences him.

“If it’s not a trap,” Kaze gives a meaningful look to Arthur who is opening his mouth to intervene, “then what do you expect us to do with you?”

“It’s not up to me.”

“No, it’s not.” Kaze agrees. “But I asked you what you expected.”

“I didn’t think that far ahead.”

Kaze’s expression suggests her doubts about that statement but before she can say anything, there is a lot of screaming around the Fey camp.

“Kaze. Kaze!” A young warrior runs towards the unofficial leader. “It’s the Green Knight. He’s alive and he’s here.”

Lancelot doesn’t know whether that’s a good news or bad news for him. The Green Knight seemed to have been giving him a chance back in the Brother Salt’s tent, but on the other hand, Lancelot ran a sword through him.

In the chaos that follows, Lancelot senses a person moving towards him. He doesn’t have to raise his sight to know that it’s Percival. He doesn’t dare to look at the boy, afraid to see hatred in the boy’s eyes. What he doesn’t expect though is a little hand gently squeezing his shoulder. The gesture does make Lancelot look up and from his kneeling position, he is on the same level as Percival. Percival gives him a little but confident smile.

“I know you’re hurt, Lance. But I promise that together with the Green Knight, we will persuade them and you’ll be taken care of. Just hold on a while longer.”

All the violence, pain, and animosity were not strong enough to bring tears to Lancelot’s eyes, but the little boy’s words are. Lancelot’s sad, strikingly blue eyes are filled with an ocean of tears and although he doesn’t let them slip, Percival notices them. And even though the young boy is usually so active and loud, he possesses enough empathy to understand Lancelot’s distress and embraces his new friend. Lancelot is stiff at first but then lets his cheek rest against Percival’s tiny shoulder.

That’s how Gawain finds them. Quickly, he observes the situation unfolding in front of him, feeling relieved that Kaze took command in his and Nimue’s absence. When his eyes find the unlikely duo, his first instinct is to run to Squirrel and give him a huge hug. However, he stops almost immediately when he notices the tied up figure that Squirrel is slowly releasing from his embrace to look for him. The smile on his face disappears and a look of disbelief takes its place as he takes in the figure of the bruised and injured Weeping Monk.

The Green Knight draws his sword.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for not posting for so long...I was preparing for final exams at my university which are fortunately over now so hopefully the updates are going to be more frequent and regular. Thank you to everyone who commented; I will try to answer all of them now ;)


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